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Jesus Gutierrez
=Introduction= My name is Jesus Alberto Gutierrez Jr. and I am a 26 year old first generation Mexican-American male. I was born on April 6, 1987 in the second largest hospital (at the time) in the, then smaller, “city” of Brownsville, Texas and was raised in my true hometown, the neighboring Los Fresnos, Texas, for the first eighteen years of my life. I am the middle of three children from the union of Jesus Alberto Gutierrez and Elvira Echavarria Gutierrez. I have managed to obtain my Master’s Degree in English Literature (if no more hiccups) from the University of Oklahoma and in doing so have become the only individual in my immediate family, and the third in my extended family, to have obtained an advanced graduate degree. It is admittedly a slight point of pride for me and my family. =Coming To America= My father immigrated to the United States with his family, my grandfather Abel Gutierrez and grandmother Alicia Gutierrez, when he was seven years old in 1965. It was much easier to cross the border in that time as it was before the increased paranoia concerning terrorism and the loss of a supposed American nationalistic identity. As well, it was a slightly more prosperous time period and the fear of job losses due to immigrants was nowhere near the levels it is currently perpetrated to be. Thus, my father and his family were able to cross and stay with little difficulty. The singular circumstance that could have put a hindrance to their new opportunity and life was when my grandmother was filing her paperwork for residency. Then it was a bit easier to obtain some form of legal documentation that allowed one to stay. All she needed was a current physical address in the states and a working bank account, basically a check stub, to put under file for later charges and to prove she was legitimately working. Unfortunately, she did not possess a bank account or check stub as she was technically an illegal immigrant and did not have the documentation to acquire these items. (I am fully aware of the catch-22 of the situation and the ironic humor associated with it).However, when she was in the government office perplexed as to what she would do, the worker behind the desk offered his own check stub as a placeholder for her. I don’t know if he felt some sort of solidarity with her, being a black male, against the hegemonic dominant system or just a sense of pity but without him I am not sure if my grandmother would have been able to stay in this country. I actually had only recently heard this story and was surprised on a few fronts; first that my grandmother was so lucky and second that she was helped out by an African-American individual since there is not a lot of diversity in my home area and finding anyone who is not Hispanic/Latino is rather rare. It would be a few years down the road before my mother would meet my father, get married, and eventually immigrate herself, but it all really started with a single gracious act. =Religion...It's Important!= My family, immediate and extended, has never been a big proponent of cultural heritage. We are without a shadow of a doubt Mexican, but do not fall under any of the standard or stereotypical perceptions of Mexicans or Latinos. We are definitely not lazy, my mother and grandmother would never stand for idleness, nor are we very festive or outgoing partiers constantly having fiestas in our backyard. From an early age, my grandmothers instilled modesty, humility, and other such values into my parents who continued such education with us. In fact, my grandmother Alicia once told us that she would not allow her kids to run around outside without shoes or a shirt because such behavior was improper and undignified. It did not matter if you lived in a “big expensive house” or in the poorer neighborhoods like them; it was no excuse for lack of manners and decency. (My abuela is pretty old school when it comes to stuff like that). While my family does not carry the common pride or facets of Mexican identity, they do happen to be very religious…just not Catholic. My family, and I mean all my family that I know of on both sides of the border, belong to a Protestant sect of Christianity known as The Apostolic Assembly of the Faith in Jesus Christ. This Christian sect is technically responsible for my parents getting together as they met through a religious service and were really only able to see each other during church events as my mother lived on the other side of the US-Mexican border. The importance of a religious belief and relationship with a divine Christian creator has been stressed in my family since as far back as I can remember. I like to joke that I technically began attending religious services before I was even born as my mother continued going to church up until the day she went into labor. And then promptly returned a week after. Although I may at times disagree with the practices and beliefs promoted by the Apostolic Assembly, particularly concerning the roles of women and homosexuals in society, I cannot deny the influence that the institution has had in my personal development and that of my family as it is today. Even now, it is virtually impossible to discuss any topic with my family without religious dogma and doctrine being brought into conversation usually along very specific gender and sexual ideologies, i.e. women should not wear certain garments or practice certain roles or be indecent enough to discuss issues like protection, STD testing, etc. in public. =Hablando Español= It is at times sad how fast we “progress.” Within two generations, my family’s Spanish proficiency has become almost nonexistent. My grandparents speak nothing but Spanish and never really acquired any proficiency in speaking, reading, writing, or understanding English. In all fairness, considering that they have lived twenty miles from the Mexican border their entire lives and that at best “Spanglish” or “Tex Mex” is the common spoken form of English in the area it is not too surprising that they never saw a purpose in learning the language. They were not attempting to gain any higher form of upward mobility and were perfectly content in the social and economic class they found themselves in. After all, they had come to the United States from Mexico for better opportunities for their children and future grandchildren. I suppose they were happy that their hopes for better circumstances for their grandchildren had happened but I am equally certain they were disappointed with the language barrier that had risen between us and them. I noticed my own deficiency in Spanish early on and worked through academic channels to correct it. I have managed to do so to an extent, but even now it is still difficult at times to fully and freely communicate with them. I will begin to struggle with certain phrases or forget the correct word when trying to express myself. It is an indication of the negative benefits of assimilation. I have obtained a modicum level of success in the dominant society but have also inadvertently lost a bit of my personal heritage and culture and ability to fully associate with my past. It is an error I constantly try to correct and fix. =Naming Conventions= Considering my family’s affinity for religion, it is not surprising that most, if not all, of my sibling’s and cousin’s names are derived from biblical literature. Ironically, my nomenclature is one of the few that does not follow that convention. I am named directly for my father hence the “Jr.” or second attachment, but he is named after two of his uncles, which I guess would make me named after two granduncles. The story goes, according to my father, that both of them were stubborn and strong men who lead, for the most part, good intentioned and fruitful lives with one exception; they were both lifelong bachelors. For some reason, neither one of them ever married nor had children. They were not unattractive men (again according to my father) but simply never decided to take that plunge. Since they would not be able to carry on their legacy or names, my paternal grandfather graciously offered to use their names for his firstborn son, my dad. In essence, my father is carrying on the memory, goodwill, and names of my grandfather’s brothers. In a way, I am as well and I enjoy the idea that my name carries a real sense of family history. Category:Students